Oh god make the bad light go away.

I am almost completely sure that Jack cheats at drinking, because I know I paid off the bartender didn't have that much to drink, comparatively, and Jack almost never drinks! He gives me his drink to drink, when he pretends to drink! There's no way he could have beaten me. I had every advantage.

None of which explains the hangover. It reminds me that the only way to truly win a drinking competition is not to enter.

I don't even know who won. And I would ask Jack but

1. He would lie and
2. I don't know where he is or
3. Unrelatedly, why Max is asleep in the hanging planter in my window.

I hope we had fun, and that someday through the haze of this hangover I will remember that fun.

Maybe he's getting pancakes. Or trying to make them from a can again. Or preparing some kind of godforsaken Victorian hangover cure. And Andy's expecting me at some...tapas bar somewhere, for the Wales v Italy match today...

Right. Clothing, shoes, then rugby.

And, on schedule, there's the feeling of being sixteen again. Grand.

(no subject)

Good afternoon, shining people!

I decided to skip my Day Off and clean the kitchen instead. I've reorganised the cabinets and washed all the dishes and set butter out to soften for shortbread and what I am calling Black Irish Potatoes. Irish Potatoes are a kind of candy made with butter and coconut and rolled in cinnamon to look like tiny potatoes. As I have no cinnamon or coconut, I'm making them with hot-cocoa powder and toasted walnuts instead. Use for hot cocoa powder #7!

The rest of the butter is softening for shortbread, because I have a jar of lemon curd and nothing to spread it on. When we were making pasta the other day I asked R to get the chopped garlic out of the fridge, and he came up with both the garlic and the lemon curd.

"Lemon...curd?" he asked, as if it were some kind of alien creation unfit for the likes of man. Heathen.

We're supposed to meatloaf at some point today, but god knows when he'll be awake. I'm hoping not until around 5, which would give me time to complete my stuff here.

I bought some Things for the kitchen today -- a shelf for the pantry and a butter bell. It's really nice to think of something I want and be able to just buy it; for so many years I couldn't even buy the things I needed. I still don't buy much unless I find it's necessary, no tchochkes and such, but if I want a book I don't have to steal it (high school) and if I need something for the kitchen I don't have to invent a substitute. I'm lucky in that I've never been without a roof over my head or enough food to eat, but it's nice to rise a little above subsistence. And not have to worry that my parents can't do the same. Mum's frugality with Lucky's recent wealth have kept them in good stead in this economy. Deo volente they'll weather the storm okay, though it feels like tempting fate just to say it.

I've been yearning for a wall-mount drop-leaf table to install next to my baker's rack, but Ikea won't ship it and doesn't seem to have any in stock. I've found other retailers, but "can buy what I need" and "am willing to pay more than I have to" are two very different things. And I'd buy some hinges and build it myself but I'm a little short on workshop space, not to mention power tools...

(no subject)

So, here I am, at R's, and we're meatloafin. He is no longer afraid of buying beef! Also, we found out his TV has a BUILT IN digital antenna, which means he gets enough channels to feed his addictions to Wheel and Boring Political Talk Shows and Interesting Documentaries.

R brought up That Girl the other night and then we got sidetracked so I never learned what exactly he wanted to tell me about her. Turns out, he has "confirmation" that she got an abortion. She told him; apparently she was trying to make friends again. I only put confirmation in quotes because I'm still of the opinion that she may have made the whole thing up.

She's continually not in a good space, apparently. He says, and I quote, "She's turned her body into a jungle gym." Which is terrible! And I feel bad! But the mental image was amusing. Still, the woman needs help, and I hope she gets it now that she's stepped off R's case for the heinous crime of dumping her because she bootycalled a guy to get revenge on him for the cheating he didn't do.

His life is way more complicated than mine.

I'll tell you what though, all that complication takes its toll. There is a Smell coming from his room that neither of us want to investigate too closely. He suspects a dead body; I suspect he underutilises his laundry machine.

(no subject)

Sam: So the Westboro Baptist Church had signs saying "God Hates Fags", that's their schtick, and the students went around handing out flyers that quoted the bible about how god hates figs.
R: What's a fig?
Sam: You...don't know what a fig is? Like the fruit?
R: Have you ever eaten a fig?
Sam: Yes, and so have you. Unless you've never had fig newtons.
R: Wait, that's an actual food, a fig? I thought it was just a stupid name. Like Baby Ruth.
Sam: Fig Newtons. The filling? Has figs in it.
R: Is...is a newton a fruit too?

I swear to god, you guys, I couldn't make this up if I tried.

(no subject)

I swore at some point I'd posted a photo of my bedroom at R's place, but apparently not. So I have no context to give you on this. But this is what happened when R decided to move from his bedroom to my old bedroom so as to make renting a room in this condo more appealing (his room had the ensuite bath). Now he's living in my old room.

For a given value of "living".